A few days ago… Minutes after Port Violet blew up…

  Eri hit the ground wetly, covered in spit and slime. He coughed, wiping the foul-smelling substance off his face.

  I’m… not dead?

  That Demon had just spat him out, whole and uninjured. Eri remembered being in its maw, trapped under its tongue as violent blasts shook through the creature’s speeding body.

  He barely recalled the hectic experience, only that the constant trumblence and foul breath had rudely knocked him out and awakened him repeatedly.

  Where am I? He blurrily examined his surroundings.

  The first thing he noticed was the corruption in the air: dense, thick, and pulsating like a heart. The floor was sticky, its texture unpleasantly pliable, almost disturbing in its alien softness.

  Walls of flesh, slick with blood, could be seen in every direction. Great orifices and holes were bored into them, wet and dripping with primordial fluid.

  Pillars of ligaments. Beams of bones. Teeth growing upon teeth, lining the ceiling. A pervasive red glow that came from everywhere, dark and oppressive, as if the air itself hated the living.

  It was as if he were in the gut of a living God. The sensations and sights were familiar, and so Eri immediately understood where he was.

  “This is Hell. Or rather, a Hellgate Domain,” he murmured. “Your Hellgate Domain, at the bottom of the lake. Why have you brought me to your home?”

  He turned and regarded the Demon Leviathan behind him.

  Marquise Marchosias was horrendously wounded, its scales peeling and vicious burns covering its body. An entire wing appeared to be torn clean off. Half its tail was missing, leaving only a stump bleeding black ichor.

  But it was still alive and recovering quickly by the second, bolstered by the unholy vitality of its Hellgate Domain. The Demon chuckled.

  “A home, is this? It is not a word I would use to describe a prison,” it said.

  The Domain was where an Archon lived — an enormous spatial space inside the Hellgate, separated from Thalmyra, and connected only via the Hellgate portal.

  An alternative dimension crafted with a piece of Hell, mired in corruption and Demon magic.

  The Archon safely resided within that space while it sent out its Demon Legion, whose numbers were unending as the infernal energies of the Domain could spawn their ilk each time they fell. Once reborn, they simply exited the portal and resumed their war against the Living.

  So long as the Archon lived, the Domain remained stable, and the Hellgate would continuously spit out demons. Thus, it was imperative that the Archon remained inside the Domain at all times, safe from the Chosens who would seek to kill it.

  Eri knew this very well. After all, he was once an Archon himself — a Demon King who commanded one of the four major Cardinal Hellgates on the continent, situated to the desert East.

  And so he understood instantly what Marchosias meant when it called its Domain a prison.

  “You have barely existed for a century, and you are already complaining about your isolation?” Eri huffed tiredly. “You make for a poor Archon.”

  “Having your Hellgate trapped at the bottom of the lake makes for an excellent defensive position, but a poor provider of entertainment. I detest it,” Marchosias confessed. “For not even a single Chosen to breach my gates in a hundred years, not even one battle to test my claws and fangs in my entire existence… Can you imagine such boredom, my Lord?”

  Eri was once a Demon King. His Hellgate was so heavily guarded that it necessitated a full-scale Crusade just to invade it. The number of people who ever managed to enter his Domain was few and far between across the long millennium of his existence.

  He perfectly understood what Marchosias was saying.

  “I can,” Eri sighed. “I apologise for my earlier insult.”

  “That my compatriots at least have the pleasure of siege and combat… How it fills me with envy,” Marchosias chuckled. “It is unseemly for a demon to have emotions, yet I cannot help but feel the way I do. I, too, wish for blood, for stimulation, for something other than this… repulsive meaninglessness. That you validate these desires of mine grants me great relief, my Lord. It means I am not defective in your eyes.”

  Eri did not know what to say. For some time, silence stretched between them, with only the hissing of regenerating flesh filling the void.

  The Domain was empty, but it would not remain that way for long. With how many Demons died outside, soon the flesh walls would birth new stock to swell the Legion’s ranks once more.

  Eri met the Demon Noble’s eyes. “I ask again, why have you brought me here?”

  Marchosias shuddered, painfully uncoiling as it silthered forth. “It is said among the Living that a Hellgate falls when the Archon protecting it dies. We, however, know this to be false. Or at least partially incorrect.”

  Eri nodded. “An Archon commands the Legions, but not the Hellgate. When the Archon dies, the demons stop spawning from the Hellgate’s Domain. However, it is possible to reactivate it should another Demon Noble be placed in its command. To shut down a Hellgate permanently, one needs to remove the Hellgate’s magical Core.”

  It was a common misconception that killing the Archon would close the Hellgate, but it was an understandable one, and not too far from the truth, besides. Killing the Archon effectively stopped the Hellgate from being a threat, since demons could no longer spawn from it. Once the remaining horde was slain, the Chosens could extract the Hellgate Core, and the corrupted portal would thus be shut forever.

  “It is logical that the Living would tie the Hellgate’s vitality to the Archon, rather than the Core. After all, to my knowledge, no Core has ever been removed from a Hellgate while the Archon protecting it still lived,” Marchosias mused. “But… That does not mean it cannot be done.”

  Eri frowned. “No Archon would ever allow a Chosen to remove its Domain’s Core without dying first.”

  “True. An Archon cannot willfully allow a Chosen to remove its Hellgate Core, nor can the Archon remove the Core by itself either. Such an act goes against Hell’s explicit commands. We, as demons, cannot go against its authority any more than a Chosen could defy their Goddess’s Tithe,” Marchosias nodded. “However…”

  The Demon grinned, or gave the approximation of one with its draconic maw. “If a separate Archon removes another’s Hellgate Core… That is different, is it not? Especially if said Archon was once a Demon Lord, and thus possessed the highest authority beyond Hell itself.”

  The flesh walls before Eri parted, revealing a giant chamber, lit in glorious, pulsating light. A spiralling pillar of bone and meat rose from the floor while another descended from the ceiling, the two meeting to clasp a glowing orb between them.

  The Hellgate’s Ruby Core.

  Eri grimaced. “You want me to remove the Core, thereby condemning the Hellgate to destruction, while its Archon still live? That’s… blasphemous.”

  “I hope you see the irony in that statement coming from a Demon Lord pretending to be a Hero,” Marchosias pointed out.

  “It’s not pretend,” Eri murmured. He sighed. “Let’s say I do this, and it somehow works — which I highly doubt it will. You will be freed from the Hellgate, while the 35th Demon Legion will remain vanquished. You won’t have an army, and you won’t be protected by a Domain. You will be hunted down and slain instantly. Most of all, as a Hero, I cannot just allow you to roam free and hurt people.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “And what if I submit myself to your cause and protection instead?” the demon noble suggested.

  Eri turned to the Archon, his expression sceptical. “You want to be a hero?”

  “The prospect does not sound entirely unpleasant. I have no ill feelings towards the Living, despite my nature,” Marchosias said. “And frankly, after a century of this tedium serving as Hell’s lapdog, I am willing to risk a change in alignment.”

  “It’s blasphemy against Hell. It would go against your directive,” Eri argued.

  “Would it? I, a Demon Noble, will become the direct subordinate of a Demon Lord, and thus compelled to fulfil the master’s whim, regardless of how ‘blasphemous’ they may be,” the dragon-leviathan pointed out. “Furthermore, the Demon Lord cannot blaspheme against Hell’s authority. This is common sense. Therefore, any actions I perform under the Demon Lord’s order, no matter how heretically ‘heroic’ they are, would not be a violation against Hell’s command to wage war against the Living.”

  “That’s stupid,” Eri complained. “That can’t possibly work. Can it?”

  “There is only one way to know.” Marchosias pointed a claw towards the Core.

  Eri grimaced. “If I remove the Core, it could just outright kill you. There’s no precedent for this.”

  “It matters little,” Marchosias shrugged, or tried to with its massive shoulders. “I will be freed from my boredom either way.”

  “There’s no way I can keep you! Elen will kill me! Every Chosen on the continent would try to hunt me down!”

  “You may keep me inside that strange spatial storage of yours — the same one I observed you using on your Chosen comrades earlier. I only ask that you periodically allow me freedom, such that I might see new sights and savour new experiences. The Ruby Core can serve as payment, if you wish. I have no need of it.”

  “I care little for payment,” Eri hissed. “In fact, why should I care for you? Why shouldn’t I just leave you here? I am a Hero. You are a Demon. There’s no reason I should help you. Or will you threaten me with death should I refuse your offer?”

  Marchosias hummed for a moment, lost in contemplation.

  A full minute passed. Eventually, it said, “Do you know of empathy, my Lord?”

  Eri stiffened.

  “Once, such a concept would be utterly foreign to me,” the pseudo-dragon continued. “But the long years of emptiness gave me a new perspective. We demons were born with our powers and intelligence set from birth. We are meant to be immutable, unfeeling weapons of Hell. We cannot regress, but neither can we advance. And yet…”

  The demon paused. When it spoke again, its tone almost held wonder. “And yet, as I spent a century with nought to do but meditate on the pointlessness of my existence… I experience a strangeness that cannot be put into words. And it tells me… that because you understand me, you will not abandon me to this wretched fate if I express my sincerity.”

  Marchosias’s eyes locked onto Eri’s, and within that black gaze that would inspire nightmares in humans and Chosens alike…

  Eri saw a desperate, sincere plea.

  “Do not leave me here like this, my Lord. Please.”

  There was no deception in its words or gaze.

  Faced with such despairing honesty, Eri’s willpower crumpled.

  Gah, it’s like I’m looking at puppy eyes. I can’t say no to that…

  The boy sighed, resigned. “Before I do this, we need to discuss the specifics of this arrangement…”

  I’m also going to have to find a way to convince Elen not to freak out. Shouldn’t be too hard. She’s a reasonable person…

  Or so he tried telling himself.

  ~~~

  Present…

  “We are not keeping it!”

  “Well, we kind of have to—”

  “I don’t care! Either you set it loose, or we’re putting it down!”

  “C’mon, Elen… Don’t be heartless. We can’t just abandon or kill it. It’s not a pet.”

  “No, pets are a ten-to-fifteen-year minor commitment. You have a century-old demon dragon in your pocket! That’s not minor!”

  “Technically, it’s not really a dragon. It’s just draconic-looking.”

  “Absolutely not my point!”

  Eri had not seen Elen so off-guard and mad before. Trying to calm her down was pointless, and to be fair, Eri couldn’t really blame her.

  This wasn’t just a small matter she could ignore.

  “Disregarding the logistics alone in keeping this creature fed, tamed, and hidden from the Church, it is still a Demon you are trying to protect here!” Elen yelled, pointing at the dragon-leviathan, which was sitting patiently with its legs and wings folded — its appearance remarkably well-behaved despite the nightmarish aura. “A Demon Noble, no less! You are asking me to spit on every Chosen in existence just for letting this thing live! Who knows how many people this thing has killed?!”

  “None.”

  It was not Eri who spoke that time.

  Elen whirled on the Demon who had just interrupted them, her shield raised. “What did you just say?”

  “None,” the Demon, Marchosias, repeated. Though its growl was menacingly animalistic, its tone somehow conveyed politeness. “I have never killed a single human in the hundred years of my existence.”

  Elen bristled, her hostility evident. “Do you really expect me to buy that shit?”

  Marchosias choked its head. “Why would you purchase faecal matter? Is this a human custom I am unaware of?”

  “She meant if you expected her to believe you,” Eri quickly intervened before Elen could erupt. “Also… Really? Not a single one?”

  “My directives strictly compel me to stay within the domain of my Hellgate at all times, save for extenuating circumstances,” Marchosias explained. “Not a single human has set foot through my Hellgate’s portal across the entirety of its existence, on account of it being underwater. When we first met, you were quite literally the first ‘Living’ creature I had seen in my life, my Lord.”

  That… made sense. Unlike other Hellgates, Marchosias’s was situated at the bottom of the lake. Reaching it wasn’t impossible, given the ludicrous variety of Chosen’s magical ability, but the location made it significantly more difficult to mount a large-scale attack against the Demon Noble.

  No one ever tried, and since Marchosias had not left its domain in its entire life, the fact that it had not killed anyone before seemed more likely than it was otherwise.

  “That does not change anything,” Elen snapped. “You lead the Demon Legions that sundered Port Violet and slaughtered its inhabitants. The innocent blood of countless thousands is still in your hands!”

  “By such a metric, my Lord’s sins would be far heavier than mine,” the Demon pointed out. Eri stiffened. “Whilst I led a single Legion for control over a lake for a mere century, his was an existence that waged war against an entire continent for a millennium. The demons he had summoned in his Domain dwarfed mine a thousand times over, and he had personally slain countless of your precious Saints and most powerful Chosens. Yet, curiously, you see no issue keeping his company and affection.”

  Elen’s eyes blazed with fury. Eri quickly intervened.

  “There are specific reasons for that,” the boy quickly said. “Look, just tell her what you promised me! Recite to her the details of our pact!”

  “Hmm. Very well.” Marchosias straightened itself, exuding a noble aura despite its terrifying appearance. “By the name of Marchosias, Marquise of Hell and its 35th Favoured, I swear an oath to serve the Lord Fourth — To protect him with my might, to give and spill blood in his name. His secrets I shall guard, his commands I hold sacred. I will fulfil my oath by honouring intent and word, without duplicity or falsehood.”

  “Very pretty. But what good is a demon’s oath worth?” Elen snarled.

  “A fair bit, Grand Matriarch,” Marchosias answered, causing the woman to flinch at how respectfully it addressed her. “Hell is my witness and judge. Should I break this oath, the Black Damnation will surely destroy me as thoroughly as your Goddess smites Her Tithe-breakers.”

  “It’s true. That oath is inviolable,” Eri nervously said. “In case you don’t know, the Black Damnation is the conceptual Authority of Hell. Kind of. It’s a bit hard to explain—”

  “I know what the Black Damnation is,” Elen snapped.

  Marchosias tilted its head. “You do?”

  “It is the motive force of Hell itself. All your demons’ Cores and directives spawn from its hand,” Elen spat. Her anger remained, but there was a barely-restrained tinge to it now. “Breaking an oath like that would subject you to a fate worse than death. Hell would swallow your soul; you’ll never be reborn again. How could you have that much confidence in a boy you’ve barely met?”

  Marchosias’s curiosity strengthened. “How odd. I had not thought the Living well-versed with greater demonology. Most humans regard us as unthinking beasts. Your Church certainly moves to reinforce that notion, censoring the truth from its flock. Yet it seems you truly do know of our ways, and it raises very interesting questions.”

  “I’m the one asking questions here, Hellspawn,” Elen coldly retorted.

  “I merely remark, not interrogate. In any case, it heartens me to see that my Lord lacks not for interesting companions,” the demon chuckled jovially. “To answer your question… My Lord Fourth is a curious case. Rather than being reborn as the Fifth Demon Lord, he has retained his ego and reincarnated as a human child. It is unprecedented, and it moves me to trust in him.”

  The demon flapped its wings, its excitement rising. “After all, how could I not? He is what I have been hoping for all my life: a radical change from the monotony of my existence! My Lord believes he can be a Hero. I wish to see how he would walk that path. That is all.”

  “You risk your eternal existence for something as menial as that?” Elen growled, unconvinced. “Demons do not fear death, but they do fear the punishment of the Black Damnation. I don’t believe you.”

  “To that, I can only say this: I would much rather taste the fires of Pedition for all eternity than endure another meaningless century in that prison,” Marchosias replied honestly. “I believe in time, my sincerity will show through actions, but until then, my word is all I can offer. I apologise, Grand Matriarch.”

  Elen trembled with barely controlled emotions. Her expression was a mask. Eri wisely chose to stay silent.

  Eventually, she turned and walked away, leaving Eri and his dragon-demon behind without another word.

  “... Did I do wrong, my Lord?” the demon asked sadly.

  “No. I think that’s the best we can hope for,” Eri sighed. “She won’t say it aloud, but that’s her giving her tacit approval… I hope. Welcome aboard, I guess.”

  Here’s hoping I don’t regret this.